


Where the Blackness Burns Beneath

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying, Day 11, Dean Winchester Angst, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Defiance, Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Psych 101, Season/Series 10, Struggling, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: The Mark tries to tighten it's hold on Dean like a possessive, seductive lover. Dean does what he can to fight this abuser on his arm and in his head.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Kudos: 24
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Where the Blackness Burns Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020  
> No 11. PSYCH 101  
> Defiance | Struggling | Crying

Burning pain alighted along the sensitive inner part of Dean’s forearm. He grimaced, putting his hand over it.

Sam asked him if he was okay.

Dean lied while blood, screams, and death took over his head. It took his breath away in beautiful, agonizing pleasure. Desire trickled through his gut, and down, lower, lower. It left him light-headed.

Later, after a hunt: _Dean, are you okay?_

_Yeah, I’m fine._

He wasn’t.

He was struggling with this thing, fighting it with all that he had. But each day he could feel himself losing to the Mark of Cain. It wasn’t just on his skin. It was branded onto his soul, turning him into something that maybe he was always supposed to be. Maybe this was how his story was supposed to end.

After slaughtering the Steins, beating Cas, and getting Rudy killed, he locked himself in a motel room.

Dean sat on his bed, head in his hands.

Blood seemed to coat his very vision. It pounded through him. Begging, pleading, for what would ease the want, the pain.

But Dean knew it was like a drug.

It’d want more.

And more, and more, and more.

There would never be enough.

He knew that from Cain.

This wouldn’t be over until the world had been scoured of the filth that was humanity.

It was filth.

It was filth if they did things like accept supernatural marks without reading the warning label.

_Mark of Cain_   
_Ingredients: The Darkness of Lucifer, Demon Juice, Blood_   
_Branding may leave pain, and skin will be red, and sore._   
_WARNING: This product contains the evil of the world. Do NOT give to children under ages 4 and 5._   
_If you have already struggled with evil, please talk to your doctor before taking._   
_Mark of Cain can be used to relieve symptoms, such as: Humanity, Empathy, and Love._

Dean thought thinking up a label would make him feel better. But it was dark, it was tainted.

He cried out, covering his ears, as he heard screams.

They weren’t there. They weren’t real. It was in his head.

Perhaps that still counted as real.

This was all real. The absolutely aching want growing in him, the delicious pain searing in his arm, the power flowing through his veins so strongly he could hardly breathe.

Something wet dripped onto Dean’s lap as he struggled with himself, as he showed the Mark of Cain defiance.

It soaked into the jeans over his thigh in a dark circle. Just a tiny drop.

And that was when Dean realized that he was crying.

How the fuck was he crying?

The Mark of Cain was supposed to take that away, wasn’t it?

But he was crying so fiercely he couldn’t see, and his bottom lip was trembling. Snot ran from his nose.

God, he actually wanted to be a demon again in that moment.

Dean acted on that feeling, body pounding, pounding, _pounding_ , and he rose, grabbing his keys.

He didn’t know where he’d go. Just drive. Find someone to kill. Or maybe a few people.

The Mark would take him faster that way.

It was what he had to do.

As Dean reached the door, grasping the metal knob with his hand, he hesitated. The Mark whispered into his ear like a seductive lover. It seemed to lick and bite at his skin, leaving him tingling, and left with fiery pleasure. It wanted him. And he wanted it.

A small part of him didn’t.

The humanity.

The god damn _fucking humanity_.

Dean withdrew his hand from the doorknob, and lifted his arms, resting with his forearms against the door, head against them.

He sobbed.

God, what was he, a baby?

_Pull yourself together, you fucking weak ass piece of shit._

Okay, Dean had issues with how he perceived himself, but he never talked to himself like that.

The Mark reached into his body, caressing every part of him. He curled his toes in his boots.

_No, no, no, no,_ he begged.

**_YES._ **

Dean let out a cry, and then stomped over to the bathroom.

He had a game plan. _You’re gonna clean your face, and then fucking deal with this..._ permanently _._

The water that flowed from the sink was cold, contrasting almost heavenly against the heat and the burn in him. He washed away his tears.

Castiel, beaten, bloody, seeming on the verge of death, was in the mirror. He stared at Dean.

Dean ignored him.

_Just scrub,_ Dean told himself. _Just keep scrubbing._

_Fuck, is that blood under my nails?_

_Can’t have it like that if I’m going to prepare food. Then again, Death isn’t human._

Castiel was still there.

Dean couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t just the relentless pull of the Mark of Cain. It was _Cas_. His best friend. His family. The being he loved and wanted to build a life with.

The Mark had ruined that.

_Dean_ had ruined that.

It was over.

Letting out a scream, he lashed out, knocking the soap dispenser clean off the wall. His vision was a haze of red, as he grabbed anything he could in the room, smashing the items and furniture to bits, throwing them. By the time he was done, the room was strewn with destruction as if there had been a fight.

There had been.

Dean sank to his knees, breathing hard, feeling the ache in his throat that spoke of more tears. The bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes suddenly had a pinching sensation.

Dean held his breath as long as he could, wanting to keep the sounds of despair in.

Instead of a whimper — _thank god_ — it was a guttural cry. It sounded almost like a roar. Dean’s voice died down, and now he had tears for another reason.

He’d be leaving Castiel.

He’d be… _No. Sam._

But it was what he had to do.

This was Dean’s fight, and he wasn’t going to let it end bloody. Not anymore.

Oh god, he was so afraid. He was so afraid that his entire body was quivering, his breaths fast and hard, abdomen trembling beneath his shirt. His breaths sounded like cries, sobs. Maybe there were more tears.

Oh god.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

This was real.

_This was real._

The Mark of Cain, the motel room, what he’d done to Castiel.

That was the final straw for him — Castiel.

_Never again,_ he told himself. _I won’t hurt you again, Cas, I swear._

Dean hoped he heard that last part, but he wouldn’t let him come with him, wouldn’t tell him his plan. Only Sam should know. Sammy had to be there to—

Dean couldn’t think about it.

_Baby steps,_ he told himself. _Baby steps._

Dean rose from the floor.

He was winning this fight, but losing the war. This was the only way.

Time to say goodbye.


End file.
